


The Future's Uncertain and the End is Always Near

by anna_chronistic



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anachronistic Language, Anxiety, Astronomy, Canon Era, Dorks, Drugs, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Foreshadowing, Gen, High Heels, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, I'm still getting the hang of this 19th century language thing, Illnesses, M/M, Paris Catacombs, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shitty Dialogue, Survivor Guilt, Weird Coincidences, kind of, long backstories, puns, rambling about nothing, sketchy 19th century medicine, time jumps, tuberculosis, uncle Joly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_chronistic/pseuds/anna_chronistic
Summary: Joly explains to Combeferre the story behind why he's a hypochondriac.Basically the story of how Joly survived tuberculosis as a teenager.





	The Future's Uncertain and the End is Always Near

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song [Roadhouse Blues by the Doors.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldW8jtV2jG0)
> 
> The flashback in this fic is in third person, even though Joly is telling it (this is because I suck at writing in first person). Also, most people refer to Joly by his first name (Matthieu) in the flashback.

June 2, 1832 at the Corinthe

During the odd hours of the morning, Combeferre, a brown-haired 28-year-old man with glasses, has several sternum bones from an anatomy lab. He is planning to test their resilience while somehow avoiding shooting them with guns of varying calibers. Soon after enters a blond man with a cane who was small but handsome and looked younger than his 27 years. This was Joly.

"Would you look at the time, Ferre. It's 3 in the morning. What are you doing here?" Joly inquired.

"More like what are _you_ doing here. And to answer your question, I am designing an experiment on sternum bones and blunt force trauma."

"Well I'm just aimlessly wandering because I cant sleep and I'm ill. Hopefully this cold doesn't turn into tuberculosis," said Joly.

"That's unlikely. With something as minor as this, most people wouldn't bother to see a doctor anyway," said Combeferre.

"I guess ignorance is bliss, like in a gadda da vida," said Joly. Combeferre was sure that he meant "in the garden of Eden".

"Way to be sagacious," Combeferre remarked.

"Yes, and if we survive the rebellion, then hopefully I can grow up to be nice and old like you," said Joly.

"I'm 28," Combeferre scoffed. "A perfect age to retire and have children be impressed by me, like with someone who survived Waterloo."

"I anticipate that this upcoming rebellion probably won't be nearly as dangerous as Waterloo. But now that I think about it, I would be a very sub par soldier. I'm barely 5'2" and slow as hell," Joly said gesturing at his cane. "There's no way I could run fast enough to dodge bullets."

"Then maybe you can be a sentry. You can be the lookout guy and stay in one place for the most part."

"Just as long as it isn't raining," Joly was half joking and half serious.

"Your perceived illnesses are the square root of negative one," Combeferre said to the blond. Joly laughed at the joke, even though he didn't understand it.

"Is that a math joke? I'm sure that was funny, but may you explain that? I'm only mediocre at math," said Joly.

"The square of any real number is either positive or zero. Therefore the square root of a negative number can't be a real number. So mathematicians came up with the imaginary number, or _nombre imaginaire_ ," Combeferre explained.

"Now I understand. You're comparing _malade imaginaire_ with _nombre imaginaire_. And a good thing is that technically you can't die from something that's imaginary. I think the most splendid way to die would be getting hit by a meteor."

"Meteor _ite_ ," Combeferre corrected. "They're called meteorites when they impact the earth's surface. And plus, probability of getting killed by a meteorite is so low that I would say it's impossible."

"You're right, that's never going to happen. How I want to die and how I'm going to die are very different things. The future's uncertain and the end is always near," said the 27-year-old.

"You may not be able to predict the future, but there's no need to worry so much."

"I worry about catching the consumption because I have actually contracted it before," Joly explained.

"Is that true, Joly?" Combeferre had never met anyone that survived tuberculosis.

"Yes, I got it when I was a teenager. In this day and age, tuberculosis is a death sentence. Somehow I survived, but not without negative consequences."

**flashback sequence**

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

~~~~~~~~July 27, 1820~~~~~~~~

15-year-old Matthieu Joly arrives with his sister Angelina and his parents by boat at their new home in Normandy, France. Before moving to Normandy from southern France, the Joly family visited Spain. Their youngest son especially enjoyed the warm weather there. Matthieu was intelligent, but not that mature. He was a cheery flaxen-haired boy who enjoyed sports and school. His favorite subject is science, and his least favorite is math.

"Matthieu Dominique Joly, get away from the edge of the pier before you fall into the ocean!" said Matthieu's mother, Elaine Joly. His sister Angelina Joly, who was 17 at the time, was also excited to finally leave the boat. "I will call a fiacre so that we can arrive at our new house and get some rest," said the teenagers' father, Jermaine Joly.

Matthieu had been coughing during the ride, but he wasn't sick that often, so he didn't think much of it. It was probably a chill that would go away soon.

They soon arrived to their new house. "I'll race you upstairs," Angelina challenged her brother. Both of them ran upstairs, but Joly was short of breath and his sister beat him in the race up the stairs.

"It's barely been 10 seconds since we got here and you children are already rough housing," said M. Joly. "Come back downstairs." Angelina quickly made her way downstairs. Matthieu Joly descended the stairs slowly and coughed as if he were in a house fire and had inhaled smoke. Joly still thought nothing of it and decided to sleep it off.

~~~~~~~~August 24, 1820~~~~~~~~

By this point, Joly had been running a low grade fever for weeks. His cough worsened, and it got to the point where it was painful to breathe deeply. Despite this, he still acted as if it was nothing.

~~

Angelina Joly was an intelligent and curious girl, but wasn't as educated in math and science as she'd like to be considering the time period. Fortunately, her brother was there to help.

"Thanks for finding that book on marine biology," Angelina said to her brother.

"You're _whale_ come," Matthieu said, stifling coughs into his sleeve.

"You make so many puns," said his sister. "You should be called Matthieu Jolllly."

Joly gave a weak smile. His teeth were stained with blood, as if he were kicked in the face. Angelina noticed this and was concerned. "Oh no, Matthieu! What on earth happened to your teeth?"

Angelina went to get her parents and took Joly with her. "Maman, papa! I think that something's wrong with Matthieu," she said. Mme. Joly could her the crackle of Matthieu's lungs as he breathed shallowly. Then she noticed his blood stained teeth.

" _Merde_ , why didn't you tell me it was this bad? We need to get you to a hospital!" said Joly's mother. Jermaine Joly took his son to the nearest hospital as quickly as possible. He was worried because they were on a boat recently, and Matthieu could have contracted scurvy, which was common among pirates who sailed the seas for months at a time.

~~

At the hospital they explain that their son was on a boat and might have contracted scurvy. Dr. Deschanel gives an initial diagnosis. "His gums aren't bleeding, so that means he doesn't have scurvy. However, he has tuberculosis, which is much worse. He is actually coughing up blood."

"What's the survival rate of the consumption?" Joly's mother asked nervously. "It's less than 20%, unfortunately," the doctor replied. "The best we can do is give him medicine and opium and hope that his lungs heal over time."

"So you're telling me I caught a cough one day and now I have some disease?" Matthieu's voice trembled. Elaine hugged her son and said that everything was going to be alright. But M. and Mme Joly and Angelina were terrified of the thought of losing their son and brother, respectively.

As for Matthieu, he wasn't as afraid of dying as he was scared of leaving loved ones behind.

~~~~~~~~September 27, 1820~~~~~~~~

Joly's condition had further deteriorated. He had lost an alarming amount of weight from his already small frame. His once youthful face is now gaunt and tired-looking. The drugs that he'd been taking, combined with the fever, caused hallucinations, some scary and some euphoric. Today was a frightful day concerning Joly's drug induced hallucinations.

Dr. Deschanel also has some unfortunate news. "I have some information regarding the ship that you were on this summer. There was a tuberculosis epidemic. 10 people there caught the consumption, but 9 of them are now dead. Matthieu is the last survivor." Angelina, who came with her parents to visit her brother in the hospital, almost stared at Joly in disbelief.

Joly hallucinated frequently from the drugs, but fortunately none of his lungs had collapsed. Joly coughed heavily, spattering blood on his shirt. "I've been shot!" That was the best logical conclusion Joly could come to after seeing the blood on his shirt.

"Everything will be alright, Matt. You haven't been shot. Bleeding from the mouth is just a symptom of tuberculosis." She was holding in tears, and cringed at the fact that she had to explain this to her brother, who was already very far-gone from the opiate drugs and the disease.

"Speaking of shots, I wonder why gun-wielding bar patrons with bad aim are always sober." Angelina wasn't sure how to react to that statement, so she paused without saying anything.

"Because they miss all their shots!" Matthieu continued. It was a knock-knock joke. At a time like this? Had he gone mad?

"Now is not the time, Matthieu," said Angelina.

"I'm trying to lessen the severity of my death by telling jokes. I know I'm going to die anyway because someone shot me." Angelina didn't even bother to correct her brother this time. "Saint Lawrence told jokes as he was being executed by getting burned at the stake. Perhaps I can die more peacefully than my current situation allows, like him."

"I have something to tell you. I'm not sure how maman and papa will react to this, but I'm pregnant. I know this because I slept with someone while we were sailing from Spain to Normandy. You're going to be an uncle soon if you just hang on!" she said, grabbing his small hand.

As soon as Joly heard this, the light in his brown eyes came back. "If that is true," he said. "My plans to die are over."

~~~~~~~~April 4, 1822~~~~~~~~

The day before Joly's 17th birthday. Against all odds, he recovered from this usually fatal disease, most likely from a combination of drugs and will to live. His cough slowed and eventually went away, although doctors say that his lungs will probably never work at full capacity again. He still enjoyed sports, but he was much slower and short of breath. Joly's interest in science became more specific; he liked biology and chemistry, but wasn't good at physics. That's how he became interested in the medical field.

Joly's niece Esperanza is almost 1 year old, as she was born on April 20, 1821. Since her brother liked the country Spain so much, Angelina decided to give her daughter a Spanish name. Esperanza had Angelina's blue eyes, Matthieu's blonde hair, and a big nose that none of the Jolys had.

Joly had quickly grown fond of his niece. But he also was curious about who her father was. "Esperanza's father is some person who had snuck on the boat," Angelina explained. "His first name was Perryn. I don't exactly remember his last name. I think it started with a G or something. He was the same age as me, but rather ugly. He was also tipsy during most of the journey."

~~

Later that night, Joly noticed something wrong with his left leg. Nothing had ever been wrong with his legs until after he got tuberculosis. Joly wondered if this was a coincidence or not. He pointed it out to his sister.

"Take a look at this. I'm standing perfectly straight, but my left foot doesn't exactly touch the floor." Joly stood up straight, and there was indeed an unevenness in the length of his left and right legs. The left was noticeably shorter.

"I have an idea. Here, try on one of my high heeled shoes on your shorter leg," Angelina suggested. Joly put the shoe on his left foot. The extra height of the 2-inch heel made up the difference perfectly. "That's innovative," Matthieu said, surprised. "I bet no one will notice," said Angelina.

Joly's parents definitely did notice when the family was walking the streets one night. "Don't go around wearing mismatched shoes," said Elaine. "We ought to get you a proper cane."

The next day, his parents got him a cane, a rather peculiar birthday present. Well at least Joly could pretend that the cane was a sword or a gun.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back to June 2, 1832

"So you see, Combeferre?" said Joly. "Because my lungs were damaged by tuberculosis, I am more prone to catching respiratory infections. And if I get a particularly bad one, it could be dangerous even. That's why I'm afraid of getting ill."

"That explains a lot," said Combeferre. "Surviving a near fatal disease also shows that you're stronger than you think you are, Joly."

"I never thought of it that way," Joly replied.

"You mentioned earlier that you believed you were shot while you were under the influence of opium. I must say, that's a rather interesting and morbid way of perceiving things."

"Although I'm very morbid, the reason I thought I'd been shot was that my chest hurt a lot and I saw blood. There wasn't really much to it."

"As painful as it is, tuberculosis has an 80% fatality rate, but getting shot or stabbed in the chest with a bayonet has a 100% fatality rate," Combeferre joked. "And you may have survived, but it looks like you have a bad case of distichiasis."

"Nice try, Combeferre. I know what that is," said Joly. "It sounds like a terrible disease, but it's just a term for eyelashes."

"It seems like you caught me saying that you have pretty eyes," said Combeferre. "You also caught it in the middle of summer, which might suggest that cold weather alone may not necessarily cause illness"

"Then I guess I should stop worrying about rain," said the younger med student.

"I wonder if the consumption stunted my growth somehow. I'm just not sure how to establish a probable cause, as my uneven legs could also be genetic. Since the survival rate is so low, there isn't much data on how tuberculosis affects the bones."

"A similar phenomena happens with skeletal remains in archaeology," said Combeferre. "Diseases often kill people before it can even show up on their bones. This makes determining the cause of death from the bones nearly impossible."

"Just like the sternum bones right here," Joly said, pointing to the sternum bones that Combeferre was experimenting on.

"There are also plenty of skeletons in the Paris Catacombs. Maybe we can visit there some time."

"I don't know," said Joly. "I think it would be better to leave those ghosts alone"

"There isn't any conclusive evidence that ghosts exist," said the older medical student.

"Yes, but there also isn't any conclusive evidence that ghosts _don't_ exist."

"Fair enough, Jolllly. The concept of ghosts might be mysterious for us to understand, but I believe there is a mystery that I can solve regarding your niece."

"Go on," said Joly.

"You said that the father of your niece was the same age as your sister, who was born in 1803, correct?

"Yes"

"Plus he drank a lot, and his name was Perryn G."

"That's what she told me."

"Just like our Perryn Grantaire, who was born in 1803! I think I know who the father of your niece is."

As if on cue, Grantaire enters the Corinthe. "Hello resident doctors," Grantaire said.

"Grantaire, do you remember where you were on July 20, 1820?" Combeferre inquired.

"I have no idea how that's relevant to anything, but I snuck on a boat and slept with a girl. I was a troubled teenager."

"That girl was my sister! Combeferre and I had a whole discussion about it. Then that means that your son is my niece. Welcome home, brother-in-law!" Joly ran up to Grantaire and hugged him, trying and failing to pick up his friend. Grantaire was confused, and Combeferre was laughing at both of them. Because of this coincidence, Joly was the happiest he'd been in a while.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. "In a Gadda Da Vida" is also [a song from 1968 by Iron Butterfly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xv1k4Dug7_8). So I sort of used the running gag where Joly randomly mispronounces words to make a reference to a song from the future because I can't help myself (I mean come on, look at my username).  
> 2\. Esperanza means "hope" in Spanish.  
> 4\. Perryn is the French word for Peter.  
> 5\. [How tuberculosis affects the bones](http://www.livestrong.com/article/245508-what-are-the-symptoms-of-tuberculosis-of-the-bones/)  
> 6\. [Distichiasis is when you have an extra row of eyelashes.](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/03/30/elizabeth-taylor-distichiasis-extra-eyelashes_n_842539.html)


End file.
